Having dominated the mountain of laundry, I live to blog another day. Thank you for all your love and support.
Time was, I used to be something of a writer of letters…a giver of gifts…a maker of signs and trinkets…handwrit-ess queen. Somewhere along the past few years it all seemed to drift away…or perhaps is in a yet-unpacked box upstairs. Well, I bought a new box. Yesterday (amidst Tracy’s and my synchronized laundry dances), I finished the Blue Baby Blanket of Death- hereafter know as “Wyatt’s blanket.” Wyatt, born this past winter, is probably graduating from kindergarten right about now, but his blanket is finished. I had to start over 3 times. I had to count 161 stiches and 8 repeats 32 times. I used words on this blanket I didn’t even know I knew. I saw colors of anxiety and frustration that would have hospitalized someone weaker…but not me. I, you see, am back. I have fought, and I have won. That creative girl? The one who knows how to wrap surprise package or two? I can feel her getting stronger again. Look out, people. “So here it is,” I shout proudly, “in all it’s glory!”
The boy and I are off to Cleveland to be with the Kluskas and do the whole my-cousin’s-wedding thing for the weekend. I’m wearing sweat pants- the whole time. See you on Monday!